


Batida

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Thranduil, Ficlet, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angry Thorin is but a fleeting interruption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Batida

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for truthwritaslies’ “I just want Dwalin on his knees before Thranduil's throne totally blowing her mind with just his mouth. Bonus points: It has nothing to do with anyone being imprisoned or needing help on the quest/ at BOFA Double points: If you can make it consensual and IC at the same time. All the bonus points: If this is not the first time they've done this and if/when Thorin finds out about it Dwalin tells him where he can stick his opinion 'cause it's none of his damn business.” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=21164031#t21164031).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

This makes _everything_ worth it.

She _hates_ having filthy dwarves in her home, stomping mud into her elegant halls and spilling crumbs all over the floor. She hates their boisterous laughter and their complete lack of appreciation for the finer things, and most of all, she hates the smug look that often comes to Thorin Oakenshield’s face. But there’s no better excuse to bring her spare lover here than in his king’s royal guard, and alas, _some_ conferences must be held.

And she much prefers them here, where Dwalin can kneel between her legs at the base of her throne, to the dark caves of Erebor. She likes to lounge back in her familiar setting, with her guards down below to hear every sound, and his face flushed from her wine. At first, she had him lick it off of her, but now they’ve spent the bottle, and it lies empty at his side. It’s just his tongue left and the raw taste of her. And he doesn’t at all seem to mind. He eats her out like he’s never had anything sweeter, and she revels in his attentions. 

Dwalin’s very, _very_ good with his mouth. His tongue is broad, long, and powerful, and he uses it with skill, first swiping up and down, then thrusting deep inside, then swirling around her clit. He makes her arch, makes her gasp, makes her toss her head back so quick that her yellow-white hair tangles in the antlers of her throne. Her crown’s already fallen askew, but she doesn’t bother to straighten it. Her hands are in fists along the armrests. Her hips are constantly bucking forward, chest heaving with her fluttering breath, mouth open wide to moan. She lets him hear all her noises, lets them echo through the halls, because it only makes him fuck her _harder_ , and she loves the greedy way he can eat her out for _hours_.

They’ve only been at it for two this time when the interruption comes. She notes it out of the corner of her eye, a little speck winding up the path, but she doesn’t stop. She lets her people hear her ecstasy. She’s their _queen_ , and she deserves it. Elves have no fear of pleasure, though dwarves, mortal and crude, attribute too much shame to this. It’s a stout, dark figure that hurries towards her throne, until she flicks her hand on a particularly loud cry. The guards act immediately and turn to block the dwarf’s progress. Clearly furious, even from so far away, Thorin tries to push past them, but they hold tall and firm. Dwalin continues squirming his tongue inside Thranduil’s soaking channel, oblivious to anything but her body. 

He freezes only when Thorin bellows, wild and thunderous, “What is the meaning of this, Elf-queen? I thought your invitation was to talk of our peoples, not to assault my guards!”

Thranduil, at first, doesn’t answer. She’s darted a hand to Dwalin’s head, where there’s no hair to thread through, but she holds his skull tight against her. His warm mouth still makes her groan, and she bucks once into him, panting hard and letting out a strangled breath. Only when she’s ready does she lick her lips and call back, fluid and unconcerned, “I assault no one.” There is, perhaps, a smirk on her lips, but it disappears in her next gasp, when Dwalin rubs his coarse beard against her sensitive folds. “I assure you your guard is quite happy to service proper royalty.”

Thorin’s growl feels like it could shake a mountain. Then Dwalin jerks against her grasp, and Thranduil, clicking her tongue in disappointment, allows him to turn. It leaves her gaping open and leaking, body wracked with only residual tremours. He looks over his shoulder, mouth and mustache and the tip of his beard glimmering with her juices. He looks both surprised and embarrassed, but still he calls to his king, “It’s alright, Thorin!”

“It is not!” Thorin howls, snarling, “What are you doing at her feet? Have you forgotten what she did to me, to us?”

Dwalin’s cheeks stain even hotter. He remembers, of course, but can’t care, not when her robes are parted before him. Just to make sure of his allegiance, Thranduil slips one bare leg from the silver fabric and brushes it along his side, her smooth flesh so small and delicate compared to his huge, armour-clad, hardened muscles. He shivers from it, and it seems to steel him to reply, “She is still a fair lady, and we started anew!”

“Not as a pet to an elf!” Thorin reprimands.

Dwalin counters, now affronted, “If your nephew is allowed an elf, why am I not?”

Thorin seems to have turned entirely red and purple beneath his dark hair, and he blurts back, “You... you _traitor!_ ” Even though Thranduil knows dwarves become too brash in the heat of anger and Thorin will surely take it back and apologize once he’s calmed down, she smiles at the discord. Thorin’s only pushing Dwalin further into her arms. Or thighs.

Dwalin, to his credit, spews no insult back, only: “You have no one more loyal than me, and I’ll be right back at your side as soon as I finish thoroughly servicing the best pussy this side of the Misty Mountains!”

Thranduil has to lift one hand to hold back her snort, although she doesn’t appreciate her beauty being limited to only half of Middle Earth. 

Thorin opens his mouth, and it seems, at first, that he’ll condemn both of them and declare open war. Instead, he struggles with nothing, then turns on the spot and marches off, a storm seeming to bubble in his wake. The guards simply watch him go.

And Dwalin looks back around, grumbling, “Me, a traitor!” He shakes his head, but a moment later looks more saddened than angry—she can see the conflict in him. She knows he doesn’t like to fight with his beloved king. 

But she also knows that he knows how to make her _scream_ , so she spreads her legs wide around him and purrs, “Shall we resume?”

The sight of her body mesmerizes him for half a minute.

Then he’s diving back between her legs, more eager than ever to make her come. But his stamina is only outmatched by hers, and Thranduil rides her lover’s mouth long into the night, until she finally gives him another intoxicating fill.


End file.
